Happy Birthday!
by jlm110108
Summary: The challenge was: "Alan, Don and Charlie commemorate what would have been a significant birthday for Margaret."


Alan opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was the photo of Margaret on his night stand. He immediately knew what day it was. "Happy birthday, Sweetheart," he murmured. When she died of cancer five years ago, a part of him had died too. On days like this, he felt the loss even more strongly. As he shaved, a song popped into his head and he caught himself humming it as he dressed.

Still humming, he knocked on his son's bedroom door before heading downstairs. "Charlie?" No answer. Don had stopped by around midnight last night, and Charlie had gone with him to the FBI office to help with a case. They'd told Alan not to wait up.

Alan turned on the local TV news channel, hoping to find out something, anything about the case his sons were working on. As the announcer droned on about some Boy Scout troop project in the inner city, he thought about his boys. An FBI agent and a mathematician. On the surface, they had nothing in common. But the way Charlie could come up with a mathematical formula to help Don with his cases never ceased to amaze him. As he had done repeatedly over the past few years, he murmured, "Margaret, in spite of it all, they turned out great."

The news anchor switched to a live feed from a local bank. Behind the reporter, Alan could see kevlar clad FBI agents milling around, taking some perpetrators into custody. He even thought he caught sight of Charlie's distinctive unruly brown curls. Grinning, he turned off the tv and headed to the kitchen, again humming the song that had been in his head from the moment he awakened. It looked like the boys would be hungry for breakfast.

They still hadn't returned home when the scrambled eggs and sausages were ready. So Alan covered the pans to keep the food warm and brought his breakfast into the dining room. The song was still in his head. With a sigh, he stood and walked to the stereo cabinet. He browsed the CDs until he found Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band by the Beatles. He popped it into the player and punched up cut nine. He was humming along with the catchy little tune as the front door opened.

**When I get older losing my hair,  
Many years from now.**

"Hey, Dad," Don said as he and Charlie entered.

"Donnie! Charlie! Are you guys hungry?"

"Starved," Don stopped to flip through the mail in the fluted bowl.

"Coffee," Charlie muttered as he staggered toward the kitchen and caffeine.

**Will you still need me, will you still feed me,  
When I'm sixty-four?**

Don looked up from the mail. "The Beatles? I haven't heard them in years."

Charlie stood, holding the kitchen door open. Understanding dawned and he turned to Alan. "Mom would have been sixty-four today."

Alan nodded. "Yes, she would have. I've had this silly song in my head since I woke up this morning." He reached for the remote. "I can turn it off if you like..."

"Leave it on," Don and Charlie said in unison.

"Come on, I've got scrambled eggs and sausages," Alan walked past Charlie into the kitchen.

"And toast?" Don said, hopefully.

"That can be arranged," Alan grinned.

"And coffee?" Charlie asked.

"Gallons. I knew you two would be dead on your feet. I thought I saw you on the news this morning – at the Wells Fargo bank rounding up some ne'er do wells."

Charlie handed a cup of coffee to Don and poured himself a cup. Don looked up from scooping eggs onto a plate, "Thanks, Buddy. Yeah, that was us. Charlie pinpointed the bank they would hit and the rest is history."

"You didn't take your brother to a dangerous crime scene, did you?"

"Nah. Colby brought him after the scene was secure."

"Hey, don't take all the sausages," Charlie nudged Don out of the way.

"I've got more," Alan said. "Come on, let's sit down before it gets cold."

**Doing the garden, digging the weeds,  
Who could ask for more.  
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,  
When I'm sixty-four.**

"Thanks, Dad, this is great," Charlie said around a mouthful of eggs.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Alan corrected automatically. "You're welcome," he added, grinning.

**Every summer we can rent a cottage,  
In the Isle of Wight, if it's not too dear  
We shall scrimp and save  
Grandchildren on your knee  
Vera, Chuck & Dave**

"Hey, Chuck. You gonna give Dad a grandson named Chuck?"

"No way! No Vera either. Dave's not bad, though. David's a good name..."

"Listen," Alan said, "at this point I'd settle for a grandkid named Pythagoras or J. Edgar Eppes. Anything!"

Don laughed. "At this point, I think a Pythagoras is a lot more likely than a J. Edgar."

"Don't worry, Donnie," Alan squeezed his older son's shoulder. "It'll happen when it happens." He glanced at Charlie and said, "Though now that we have a relationship expert in our midst..."

"Aw, Dad you know the origin of the word 'expert' don't you?" Don asked. "'Ex' as in 'has-been' and spurt as in a drip under pressure."

**Give me your answer, fill in a form  
Mine for evermore  
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,**

**When I'm sixty-four.**

Charlie picked up chunk of his toast, dripping with butter, and tossed it at Don's head.

"Hey!" Don plucked the toast out of his hair. "Grow up, Chuck!"

"Boys, boys," Alan said, picking up his cup and standing. "No food fights. Anybody want more coffee?"

"Nah, I'm good," Don said, flinging a piece of sausage at Charlie. "There, maybe the grease will tame that out of control hair!"

Alan shook his head as he walked to the kitchen. Margaret, he thought, smiling, I may not get to spend your sixty-fourth birthday with you, but spending it with these two is the next best thing.


End file.
